Dear Mister Spider,
We need to talk.
My interest in your well being is confusing to say the least, because if you were in my house I would send my husband to capture and smash you to your death and I wouldn’t think twice about it.
But, for some reason, I can’t help but feel tormented by your unfortunate situation.
You have spun a web to catch yourself a fly or two for dinner. I personally, would prefer a turkey sandwich but that would be a bit excessive for you, plus turkeys don’t fly, nor are they small enough to get caught in your web. However, if you develop a craving for a turkey sandwich and catch a turkey in your web of terror, I’ll stand corrected.
In the meantime, look at your life and what you have done with it. You have spun a web, an unsuccessful web, right next to this:
As you hunt hungry and defeated right next to what I would assume any spider would consider a grand buffet, I can’t help but feel a little bad for you.
And I don’t like spiders.
But here I am, sitting at my desk thinking about you and your empty belly. I can’t help it. You poor little spider bellied up to the buffet without a plate, fork or spoon.
You need to get it together.
Signed,
Steph
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